


Life is Like a Blossom

by Twisted_Taffy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Language of Flowers, M/M, like really heavy on the flowers, meeting each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Taffy/pseuds/Twisted_Taffy
Summary: Random AU of Jack and Ianto meeting each other for the first time in a non-alien involved way.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Life is Like a Blossom

“Hey! Those are my flowers!”

Ianto panicked, frozen with his hand still grasping the stem of a delphinium. His other hand grasped a bouquet of rosemary, zinnia, violets, and lavender.

The man wasn’t supposed to be there yet. He was always there when Ianto was walking back to his house, digging and pruning in tight t-shirts that matched the blues of the hydrangea by the door, the periwinkles by the fence, the harvest bells by the walkway. Once he was watering in a suit, the drought refusing to allow him the time to change before taking care of his plants. His shirt blended in with the ferns, his suspenders with the anemones. That had been the same day Ianto had been hired at the National Museum as an archivist—his dream job. Ianto’d managed to wave back that day.

The man was a bright flower to look at before Ianto was stuck back in his lonely house. Not on the way out of his house. And he certainly wasn’t supposed to be catching him making off with stolen flowers.

“What are you doing?” the man asked, jogging over to where Ianto was still hovering behind the fence. He didn’t sound as angry as Ianto had imagined in his head.

“I apologize, si—I’m sorry.” Oh God, he’d almost called a random man ‘sir’.

“Are you making a bouquet?”

“Yes. I am. Again, I apologize.”

“For a special someone?” The man grinned cheekily.

“Yes. I don’t have anywhere else to get flowers. Yours are very beautiful.”

He did feel a little bit bad about stealing the flowers. Not entirely though. Lisa deserved them.

A moment’s pause. Ianto wished the lavender in his hands could spread their serenity to the rest of him.

“I’m coming with,” the man said, sliding out from behind the gate and shutting it behind him.

“I’m, I’m sorry, excuse me?” Ianto stuttered. That was not what he’d been expecting.

“Well, I’ve got to see if she’s worth my flowers now don’t I.”

“I don’t think that’s really a good idea.” Ianto barely managed to keep the ‘sir’ off the end of the sentence, internally cursing his boss’s insistence on the title.

“If you’re going to keep stealing my flowers then I ought to make sure she’s good enough to warrant flower theft. Can’t have them ending up with someone who doesn’t know how to take care of them now can I.” The man winked at him, smiling flirtatiously.

Ianto didn’t know how to reply to that, just lowered his head respectfully and nodded. The man grinned wider and strode off before him, his long coat billowing behind his strides like the action stars in the old black and white films Ianto loved to watch. The old theater was about falling in on itself by now, but they still showed the old films every so often. Ianto was normally the only one who came. The owners loved him, always gave him extra popcorn.

He decided the man seemed to belong in those films almost more than he seemed to belong in that garden or walking in front of him.

After a few moments the man turned back to glace at him. “So, what’s her name?”

Ianto’s gait faltered. “Who?”

“The girl who’s lucky enough to get a cutie like you to steal flowers for her.” He was walking backwards now, still grinning cheekily. Did this man ever stop flirting?

“Oh, yes, right. Lisa.”

“Lisa the luck lady.” Ianto allowed his lips to curl upwards for a flash at that as the man turned back around to walk normally. “I’m Jack by the way.”

“Ianto. Ianto Jones.”

“Ianto. I like that.” He drew the letters out like a wisteria vine, a soft contrast to the rest of his rough accent. Ianto whispered in his head that he liked it a bit too.

He let the other man stay just ahead of him, despite being the only one who knew the route. Like jasmine petals, he spun through scenario after scenario in his head of how he would tell the other where they were going. Preferably before they got there. As always, his body never enacted any of them. As they approached the turn his feet slowed and stopped just before the edge of the adjoining road, as if they too had hoped they could ignore it and pass on but stopped themselves. He wondered if they felt the same way he did when he forced himself to do paperwork instead of taking a bath.

The man must have been listening to his footsteps, because he too slowed and turned to look at him.

Ianto couldn’t think of words to say. He couldn’t think of words. He gripped the flowers tighter.

When he heard the other man’s step hesitate as he passed under the rusted black gateway he hoped the other had turned away, left him. But they soon followed after again.

When they had reached the grave of Lisa Hallett he lay the flowers down on the slate, their bright colors a contrast to the dark stone. He’d always thought she’d like that. She’d always complained about the granite buildings that made cities blend into the grey UK skies like an Earth-sized ball of dryer lint. Complained about the lack of color. He’d always told her that they’d find a house and he’d paint it with the cheerfulness of Gerbera Daisies and the excitement of a Bird of Paradise.

Jack’s voice was soft moss as he read off the words carefully carved in the stone.

“ _Life is like a blossom_

_On an unfamiliar plant;_

_Know we not how long will last_

_The color._

_When the time of nature comes_

_A flower withers gracefully._

_To have bloomed_

_Has been_

_Enough._ ”

Ianto let Jack’s hand rest where it wanted to on his shoulder. He smelled like lilacs.

“She always, she always like that poem. It wasn’t her favorite, it was mine. But she loved it because I…”

“She loved it because you did.” Jack finished for him quietly, like he’d done it before.

“I always told her I didn’t want to be her whole life, just her favorite part. She was supposed to get married, have kids I could help with.” Ianto busied himself with rearranging the flowers. Even a year and a half later it wasn’t any easier to remember.

“Who wrote it? The poem I mean.”

Ianto recognized the distraction and took it gratefully. “A man named Donald Walter Palmer. A doctor.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Ianto nodded. “I’ll tell you more about it if you like.”

Jack started, laughing once he saw Ianto’s shy smile grow at his ungraceful reaction. “Ianto Jones, are you trying to ask me out in a cemetery?”

Ianto grinned at the headstone. “Lisa would find it hysterical. I think she’d be proud I just managed to talk to someone. And happy that she got to watch me flail.”

Jack led the way back along to path. “I hope you’re paying. You’ve got some flowers to make up for!”

Ianto followed happily, giving a soft thanks to Lisa’s memory. The breeze smelled like roses.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a random little drabble written for a class several years ago. The poem is real and was written by my great uncle; it's now carved on his tombstone. An ungodly amount of time was also spent researching flower meanings so they are all actually relevant to the story.  
> Disclaimer: We do not own Jack, Ianto, or any Torchwood characters.


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